


We're Good

by compo67



Series: Chicago Verse [124]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Gender Identity, Genderfluid Character, Genderqueer Character, Growing Old Together, M/M, Old Married Couple, Other, Personal Growth, Post-Series, Slice of Life, Supportive Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 08:51:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14973545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: Sam wakes up in the middle of the night. He waits for something terrible to happen.It doesn't.





	We're Good

Sam listens to the rain fall against the bedroom window and the quiet piano music playing from his phone. 

Midnight.

Actually, 11:59 PM. 

The last minute of the day. 

John was fond of saying that the worst possible things could happen in the minute before one day becomes another. Separation. Temptation. Suffering. Death.

So when Sam wakes up, fifty-five years old, in a bed he shares with Dean, he immediately checks the time. 

11:59 PM.

He listens to his environment, feels the darkness of their room, and steadies his breathing so he can listen to the sound of Dean’s. 

Time seems to linger from second to second. All he has to do is wait out this minute, but it feels more like an hour. Thunder rumbles far away. The air conditioning maintains its steady hum. Dean stirs, but continues to sleep.

They had sex tonight.

Sam replays certain moments. Like the sigh and groan Dean gave after pushing inside Sam. Relief and pleasure. Then the throaty growls and grunts once they started moving against and towards each other. Sam on his back, Dean on his knees. It started raining just about the same time that Dean tensed because of pain in his knee. 

Sam offered to ride him instead. Make it easier on his knee.

Dean shook his head and kept going.

It wasn’t the first time they had sex since Sam’s stroke. That was more desperate. More rushed. More like the kind of sex they had as teenagers in motels.

Tonight felt more like the sex they’ve been having for the past few years.

Dean filled Sam up, his cock hard and heavy, flushed and twitching. He leaned back, which gave Sam a full length mirror kind of view. The dip of Dean’s collarbone, the outline of his hipbones, the impressive strength of his arms and hands. 

There was a fleeting feeling of discomfort. Not physical. Not quite emotional. Something that went as deep as Dean pushed in. 

Something like a math problem where Sam knew the formula, but couldn’t quite find the right numbers for it. He worked and reworked the problem, over and over in his head, breathing and moving, but not entirely...

“Here,” Dean murmured and grasped Sam’s hand. “Stay with me here.”

How’d he know? Then again. How has he known without being explicitly told? Is it that obvious in Sam’s face? 

Sam kept a tight grip on Dean’s hand. 

Dean leaned down and kissed him. 

When they finished, Dean said nothing about Sam’s cock. He didn’t call attention to the fact that it had been soft the entire time. 

All he did was clean them both up. He brought Sam a drink of water and nighttime meds, then he took a Tylenol for himself. They fell asleep listening to Zeppelin from Dean’s phone before Sam switched over to piano on his.

Midnight.

Actually, 12:01 AM. 

Sam sits up in bed and pushes his hair out of his face. He looks over at his nightstand and takes a deep breath before reaching out to grab an orange Walgreens pill bottle.

One blue pill shakes out of its bottle and into Sam’s waiting palm. 

He stares at the pill. 

This is technically a new day and nothing horrible has happened.

If anything, something good will happen. Hopefully. Maybe. What if this is a mistake? What if it’s too late in life? 

Dean sits up and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. His hair sticks out in every direction and he’s got a pout on his lips the size of Nevada. 

“Sammy?” His voice is deep and rough with sleep. “You okay?” 

Sam takes the pill, then looks over to Dean. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“...was that the last one for the week?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” He lies back down, this time on his side and facing Sam. “Then we’re good.” 

12:05 AM.

“We’re good,” Sam repeats. He places the pill bottle back on his nightstand and settles back into his side of the bed. 

Third week of estrogen.

Nothing horrible happened.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm listening to the rain and thunder right now. my hands hurt. i'm sleepy. but cozy. and i just wanted something soothing. 
> 
> it's nice when someone else understands without us having to explain. <3


End file.
